Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Box Set 2

by David Berens

  “And a dead artist to boot,” Samantha sneered.

  “Silence!” RayRay’s voice edged into anger… a quiet anger both deadly and calm.

  “None of that’ll matter once we get rid of you, little girl,” Bobo said, a smile forming on his face.

  “What do you have planned, father?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, son,” Bobo said to RayRay. “You took care of Tayler, now I’ll take care of his girlfriend.”

  “So, it’s true?” Samantha asked RayRay. “You killed Tayler?”

  RayRay nodded. “I never intended things to go this far… but my parents – my real parents – have legal fees you could not imagine.” He paused and inhaled. “Bobo has been good to me, and SCAD has been good to me,” RayRay said, “but now that I don’t have money coming in for my art, I cannot possibly pay their lawyers and keep myself enrolled in the college.”

  Samantha shook her head as he paused again and shrugged. “But that might not matter anyway. Once it is discovered that I can no longer make art, I will likely be expelled or asked to leave.”

  “Oh, they wouldn’t do that, would they?” she asked.

  “I am sure they will when my grades fall low enough.”

  “But RayRay,” she said quietly, “you killed Tayler… he was your friend. How could you?”

  His eyes, his working eyes, began to well with tears.

  “I had no other choice, Samantha-san,” he said in a whisper.

  “RayRay,” she said, “murder ain’t a choice.”

  “Well, this looks like a super-fun kind of party,” came a voice from behind the sliding door as it slammed upward, “but I’m thinkin’ we should take it somewhere else. Anybody?”

  In the doorway stood the silhouette of a man wearing a cowboy hat.

  In his right hand he held a gun.

  44

  Bang, Bang

  Troy Clint Bodean threw the door open as fast as he could. He’d listened outside the door long enough to know he could hear more than two voices inside, but he wasn’t completely sure whose voices he heard. He definitely heard Samantha talking, and he was glad to know for sure she was still alive. So, this was a rescue mission and not a retrieve-the-body mission. God knows there had been enough of those back in Afghanistan.

  He didn’t have much of a plan, but he knew waiting was not an option. Now that he’d heard Samantha alive, he was goin’ in. The start of his grand plan was to take ‘em by surprise. They weren’t likely to expect anyone to come barging in, so at least he’d have that going for him.

  He carefully grabbed the bottom of the garage door that stood between him and Samantha’s captors with his left hand, and with his right hand clicked the safety off on the Beretta M9, and pointed it in the general direction of the voices inside. He took a deep breath and jerked the door up as fast as he could.

  What he saw inside was surprising… sort of.

  The first thing he saw was Samantha, strapped to a broken wooden chair with duct tape.

  The second thing he saw was Bobo Gladmore, his elderly janitor friend from the Jepson. Bobo was blinking his eyes, his left hand held up in front of them to shield them from the light streaming into the storage unit, his right clutching a small, stubbed shotgun.

  The third thing he saw was RayRay Tishomura, the blind – or formerly blind – Japanese sculptor kid.

  And finally, the fourth thing he saw was the matching shotgun RayRay was aiming at him. Troy had a split second’s thought to dive back through the opening and run, but he’d be a sitting duck to two shotguns blasting at him… and he’d be leaving Samantha to be murdered for sure.

  “Fellas,” he said slowly, “let’s be reasonable. I don’t want no money. I don’t want no paintin’. All I want is to walk outta here with that there girl.”

  Troy lowered the pistol, but didn’t engage the safety. Bobo and RayRay did not lower their guns.

  “Come on in, Troy,” Bobo said, “and lemme have that gun a’ yours.”

  “How do I know you ain’t gonna shoot me?”

  “You don’t Troy-san,” RayRay said through a grin, “but it seems you do not have much choice now, do you?”

  “That there is a great point,” Troy said. He took a step toward Bobo. “Sami,” he said glancing over at her, “you okay?”

  “Little weak,” she answered, “pretty damn thirsty. Hungrier than a—”

  “Shut up, wench,” RayRay barked, and slapped her.

  Troy flinched and noticed Bobo did the same.

  “Ain’t no cause for violence, RayRay,” Troy said, holding up his hands with his index finger pulled away from the trigger. “I’m just gonna hand over this gun and let’s do a little talkin’. You down for that?”

  “You hand over the gun,” – RayRay nodded toward Bobo – “that’s where we’ll start.”

  Troy flipped the gun over backwards so that the muzzle end was pointing at him. He stretched his hand out and offered it to Bobo. The older man took it from him and tucked it into his belt beneath his belly.

  “Why, Bobo?” Troy asked quietly.

  “Hell,” Bobo said, shrugging, “I gotta take care of my son.”

  “Your son??”

  “Foster son,” Bobo said, and smiled at RayRay. “His folks are away… in prison.”

  “That’s enough!” snapped RayRay, who raised the end of his shotgun to point at Troy’s face.

  “Whoa, now, pardner, – ” Troy lifted his hands to surrender – “let’s not get reckless with that thing.”

  “Why not, Mister Troy?” RayRay sneered. “I have been watching you, and it is clear no one will miss you when you are gone.”

  Ouch, Troy thought, that was a little too true to be anything less than painful.

  “Well,” he started uncertainly, “I made a few calls before I came out here. The police are on the way with a big ole’ bunch of cavalry to take you fellas in.”

  A flicker of fear flew across RayRay’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  “Bullshit,” he said, huffing out a laugh. “If they were coming, they would’ve been here by now. And besides, there is nothing to connect me or my father to Tayler’s murder.”

  Troy swallowed. “So you did do it?”

  “I did,” RayRay said, “and the only people alive who know that are now standing in this room.”

  Something about that statement made Troy’s hair stand on end. It was true. The evidence of RayRay’s guilt was solely in him and Samantha… and Bobo. He tucked that bit of information away to use later.

  “When I walk out of here, Troy-san,” he continued, “I will be walking out of here free from all this business, two-hundred thousand dollars richer, untethered from this murder, and on my way to Japan. I will be across the ocean before anyone knows I am gone.”

  Bobo’s mouth dropped open with a smacking sound. “Japan? But son—?”

  “Shut up, old man!” RayRay’s tone had changed so much, he almost sounded like a different person. “You have served your purpose.”

  Troy brought back the info he’d tucked away.

  “That’s right, Bobo,” Troy said, “and now he’s gotta get rid of you too. You heard him, the only people alive who know he’s guilty of the murder are me, Samantha… and you.”

  Bobo huffed. “Well sure. But he knows his father would do anything to protect him.”

  RayRay swung his shotgun slowly around to point it at Bobo.

  “Son?” the old man said, his face twisting into confusion.

  “I am not your son,” RayRay said menacingly.

  “But… but…” Bobo stammered, “I helped you. I made all this possible.” He stared, distraught. “It was me who dropped the pills in Tayler’s drink, and me who let you into the Jepson that night. I was the one who arranged the buy and the drop… And it was me who got rid of the damned painting, for God’s sake…”

  Troy’s puzzle pieces began to click into place. Bobo had access to the museum at all hours of the ni
ght. It was clear he’d been the one to open the doors and let his son into the building… Troy was there that night, and he just ignored the old man coming in… well, not really ignored, but the old guy would’ve been invisible… mopping, or sweeping, or packing artwork in the back. And as for an art student leaving the museum at night? It happened every single day. RayRay and Bobo would’ve gone completely unnoticed at the Jepson.

  As for the murder, Tayler was drugged enough to feel drunk as hell. And in his party mood that night, letting RayRay in for a drink would’ve seemed completely normal. No alarms would go off in his head, no warning bells would ring… his buddy just wanted to help celebrate. And RayRay would be strong… really strong, from working with heavy sculptures. Lifting up a comatose Tayler would’ve been easy enough to do.

  “So, you killed him and stole the painting the next day,” Troy said. “A pretty clever plan. But how did you know the painting would go up so much in value? Or was that just a guess?”

  “That would be my fault, too.” Bobo raised a hand. “I overheard at least five different phone calls to the director at Jepson about the painting as soon as it was hung. Somebody’d seen it in the paper or something, and they had to have it. Then another, and then another. It was a bidding war. And then RayRay said that if we took Tayler out—”

  “You mean, killed him?” Samantha blurted, cutting him off.

  “Well… yes,” Bobo continued, “RayRay said that if the artist was dead, the painting’s already high price would rise even higher.”

  “Thank you, Professor LeFleur,” RayRay said.

  “You’re a sonofobitch,” Samantha growled at him.

  “I believe you mean a rich son of a bitch, Samantha-san,” RayRay said, smirking.

  “Which returns me to my original point,” Troy interjected. “Why don’cha just take that money and roll on out of here – head on back to Japan – and you’ll never hear from us again. Off scot-free. Ain’t that right, Sami?”

  Troy looked at her and a groan escaped his throat. Samantha was gearing up for a tirade. Clearly she wasn’t going for the idea.

  “I hope you die, RayRay,” she said through gritted teeth, “and if I get ever outta here, I’m gonna tell every cop I can find that you done it and that you should burn in hell for it.”

  “Dangit,” muttered Troy.

  RayRay leaned his head back and began laughing. He laughed so hard that his eyes began to water, and that gave Troy time to think. He glanced at Bobo and figured the old guy to be much less of a threat than RayRay. He’d deal with the kid first, and then take care of the old man.

  He inhaled slowly and took a quick, quiet step toward RayRay, which also put him one step closer to Samantha. He’d noticed that the chair she sat in was broken and apparently duct-taped back together… not the most solid solution. In his mind, he was thinking that he’d grab the gun in RayRay’s hand… hopefully faster than the kid could pull the trigger… and then kick her chair over. At that point, she’d be lower to the ground, and maybe – a big maybe – out of the line of fire of the dueling shotguns. This would all go a lot smoother if he had a distraction.

  And as if he’d wished it into existence, his distraction came at the door of the storage unit.

  “RayRay, what the fuck?” yelled someone.

  They all turned to look.

  What happened next took at least ten seconds to transpire, but in Troy’s mind, it slowed wayyyyy down.

  45

  The Last Campaign

  Troy’s head swung around in slow motion to see the person who’d yelled through the door. Alain Montgomery stood to the left side of the opening. In what might’ve taken a few tenths of a second in real time seemed to take a few minutes to Troy. He wondered if this was some kind of holdover from all the combat situations he’d seen back in the sand-covered streets of the forgotten Middle East.

  Not taking any time to thank the government for his new ability, he lunged at RayRay. The kid was swinging the end of his shotgun around toward the door and almost got it pointed at Alain. Troy grabbed the barrel with his left hand and swung hard at RayRay’s chin. He seemed to notice this was happening and fired his gun. It went off a bit early and buckshot peppered the side of the unit in a spray of deadly pings. The blast was so loud in the steel-walled room that Troy almost didn’t feel the searing pain burning into his left hand. He didn’t let go of the barrel though, and jerked it down as hard as he could, and as his fist connected with RayRay’s chin, he felt the kid’s grip go slack and the gun wrench free from his hands.

  Looking like a prizefighter reeling from the sudden shock of the haymaker Troy had thrown, RayRay stumbled backward and into Samantha sitting in the wooden chair. They both slammed down hard onto the concrete floor and the wood splintered. As Samantha and RayRay tumbled together Troy turned his attention back to Bobo.

  He was standing motionless, watching the crash of people near his feet. His mouth was open wide. Time began to speed up and Bobo raised his shotgun to level it at Troy’s midsection. Troy had enough time to glance back toward the door to see that Alain, even given the distraction, had frozen… standing still… mouth also wide open. Good job, kid, Troy thought, way to make good use of the distraction.

  He also saw a face peeking around the right side of the opening at the front of the unit. Becky. Fantastic. Troy almost laughed. We’re getting’ the band back together. But that thought was barely into his head when he heard Bobo shouting.

  “Get back, son,” he yelled to RayRay, “I can’t shoot without hittin’ you.”

  Troy took this as a sign, and he realized he still had the shotgun in his left hand. He swung it up and grabbed the stock, shoving his hand on the grip and slamming the slide back to advance a new shell into the chamber. He’d never fired a shotgun before, but he figured this was a pretty easy thing to do given the wide spray and—

  His thought was interrupted as Becky leapt into the room and ran toward Samantha, who was flailing around on the ground trying to get her hands free of the duct tape. Now he couldn’t take a shot either, or he’d hit Becky as well as Bobo, and probably RayRay and Sami.

  Bobo, in his first smart move of the day, grabbed Alain by the jacket and shoved the barrel of his gun into the kid’s side.

  “Alright,” he yelled – it still sounded like they were all at the bottom of a pool from the last gunshot, but Troy got the point – “everybody freeze. Troy, throw that thing down.”

  Bobo motioned at him and Troy almost dropped his gun, but then he remembered RayRay was on the ground next to him. He aimed his gun square at RayRay’s head. The now not-so-blind Japanese kid held his hands up to protect himself.

  “No thanks,” Troy said, “but why don’t you throw yours down?”

  “I’ll shoot the kid.” Bobo rammed the gun into Alain’s side.

  “Yeah?” Troy said and shrugged. “What’s he to me? You shoot some college kid I don’t even know very well, I shoot RayRay… your son.”

  Bobo began to see his plan unravel, but he wasn’t giving up yet.

  “Seems to me like I can end all this right here,” Bobo said, nudging Alain into the room and closer to the group. “I can take everybody out at once… and blame it on you. You’ll have gun residue on your hands and I can pin the murder, the crime – everything – on a drifter from out of town.”

  Troy thought for a minute. That was just about right. He had no evidence pinning any of this on RayRay or Bobo. In fact, Bobo hadn’t really done anything except drug Tayler… and then get RayRay into the museum… The pain in his burnt palm began to throb.

  Dangit.

  Troy was lost in thought when he felt the gun being ripped from his hands. RayRay had used the distraction – good on ya, kid – and grabbed the only bargaining tool Troy had… perfect. Now they were all trapped in the perfect killing hole.

  RayRay stood up and jerked Becky’s head back by her hair. She yelped as he did. Troy leaned down and saw that Samantha was free of the duct tape and c
ould sit up.

  “Not too fast,” RayRay said, pointing his gun back at her.

  She held up her hands and stayed seated.

  “Get on in there.” Bobo shoved Alain and he stumbled into the room.

  He caught Troy’s arm and steadied himself. Troy, again making a quick assessment of their new predicament, was stuck. This was a classic, no-win, Kobayashi Maru kind of deal.

  “So, I guess you’re not blind then?” Becky asked RayRay.

  Troy cocked his head sideways. He realized Becky and Alain were new to this information, and that must’ve come as a shock.

  “This is true, Becky-san.” RayRay smiled a toothy, lecherous smile.

  “Which means,” she said, crossing her arms subconsciously over her breasts, “you saw me that night in your room… like, all of me?”

  He laughed, and it became apparent there had been an embarrassing situation involving Becky and RayRay, and that maybe she’d been naked in front of him when she thought he couldn’t see her. Troy wondered what the whole story was, but figured that was best left for another telling on a Back Road somewhere after this was all over.

  RayRay finally finished laughing, and said, “I saw it all, sweet tits.”

  And then it happened.

  Before anyone could believe what was happening, Becky raised her fist and punched RayRay so hard, once in one eye and then in the other, that blood shot out of his eyes and he screamed. Becky stood motionless in front of him, fist still raised.

  Troy noticed she had her middle knuckle sticking out further than the rest of her fist. She’d done it on purpose. It was a tactic Troy had learned way back in the war; hit someone in the softest, most vulnerable place on their head… the eyes.

  RayRay’s head was on a swivel, jerking from left to right. “You bitch!” he growled in a guttural, high-pitched, unnatural sounding wail. “I can’t fucking see!”

  Bobo took a step into the room, his face twisted in anguish, and Troy watched as the old man raised the gun and aimed it at Becky’s back.